Chapter Text
Hunter found himself struggling to adjust to his new life in the human realm.
His friends were finding it hard to adapt too, even Luz who had lived there for most of her life, but he couldn’t help but feel like he experienced it differently than them.
It was as if his very way of life had changed. When he was Golden Guard, he had duties to attend to and rules to abide by to keep him on track. To keep him busy and diligent. He knew that life wasn’t ideal and Belos had been manipulating him every step of the way, but he couldn’t suppress the strong guilt and grief crushing his chest.
Hunter longed for that life once again, he mourned it. He mourned Belos. Silly, right?
The night he saw Belos die, he couldn’t stop crying. He tried so hard to stop, telling himself that he shouldn’t be sad for someone who had tried to hurt his people, his friends and himself. But the tears kept coming, cries muffled by a pillow Luz had let him to burrow. Many people cried that night but Hunter felt like his was unjustified. Luz, Gus, Willow and Amity had lost their friends, their families and their homes. He had lost nothing but the man who had caused all of it. Why should he cry?
Yet, Willow heard the sobs he tried so hard to stifle and held him until he fell into an uncomfortable sleep in her warm arms. His dreams didn’t offer much comfort, filled with cracked and shattered Golden Guard masks as they fell from faces that looked all too much like him.
The next morning, Hunter told himself he would never cry for that bastard again. He shoved his emotions deep down where no one, not even himself, could see and tried his best to do his part. After all, he owed everything to his friends.
So, Hunter got up at 6 o’clock sharp as he always would, he did rounds of the house to make sure everything was safe for when his friends woke up hours later, he set up the table for breakfast and cleaned every nook and cranny that he could find. Suddenly, the blonde had set a whole new schedule for himself. Everyday he would wake up and do the same thing over and over again. Because if he didn’t stick to the schedule, he was sure he’d fall apart.
Mrs Noceda would assure him many times that he didn’t need to but Hunter did. He needed this. He needed the familiar feeling of repetition or the emotions he shoved so deep down would come spiralling out.
Nights became long and the days became short. Hunter tossed and turned in his makeshift bed, fingers fumbling with a loose thread of his blanket as he yearned to get up and do something instead of being so utterly useless. The yearning stayed with him until morning, when he could finally pretend to have just woken up and get on with his usual timetable.
This new schedule became an unhealthy obsession that he followed religiously. If he strayed from it, who knows what would happen. Perhaps he’d burst into a million little pieces. Even then, he could be sold at a high price and still be useful.
He was full to the brim with use so what did he feel so lost and out of control?
One thing he could control was how he set the table for breakfast though. Luz told him that it didn’t have to be so…formal, as she put it. Hunter liked it that way though, it took up more time and kept the nasty thoughts at bay.
Plate. Napkin. Fork. Knife. Spoon.
They’d usually only have cereal so he didn’t know why he had bought the fork and knife in the first place. It’s what the schedule wanted though, so he didn’t dare put them back. It was the Right thing to do.
Mrs Noceda was always very happy to see her house looking so clean but when she saw Hunter every morning with a broom and dust-pan in hand, sadness danced in her eyes. Was she disappointed? Did she not like the way he cleaned? Did she not want him in particular to clean?
Lack of sleep left him in a daze, minutes and hours blurring together. Every noise left him on edge, irritated and groggy. Every night consisted of him staring at the ceiling or patrolling around the sleeping forms of his friends, making sure they were breathing. Every time sleep tugged at his eyelids, he’d jolt up and tug at his hair.
Hunter had stayed up for ages at a time in the Emperor’s Coven, why was he only struggling now?
Even through his sleep inertia, he could see the way everyone looked at him. They would talk, say things and offer support but it was all muffled to Hunter’s ears.
“Mijo, you’ve been cleaning for a week now. You should get some rest.”
“Hunter, man, you look terrible! Have you slept?”
“Are you okay? You’ve seemed off lately.”
“You don’t need to get up so early anymore. This isn’t the Emperor’s Coven, remember?”
The last one was meant to be light-hearted but it still made Hunter flinch. He knew all too well it wasn’t the Emperor’s Coven. If it was, he wouldn’t be cleaning and setting tables to make himself useful. He’d be imprisoning wild witches and handing over innocent palisman to his uncle. He supposed that was a good thing. He didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore and he didn’t need to now since Phillip was gone….but…it had felt so easy back then.
Follow your orders and make your Emperor proud. Be a good little puppet and kneel before your superiors. Kill this innocent beast and maybe you’ll get a small smile from your uncle that’ll make your whole week. It had felt nice to just do whatever he had wanted with no thoughts of his own. Just to be whatever he wanted him to be was enough.
Nowadays, he felt like nothing was ever enough. There was nothing else to do except the usual schedule and he felt like he was losing his mind.
Eventually, the whole Noceda household sat him down and expressed their concerns about him. Jokingly told him that if they saw him lift one more finger around the house, they’d tie him to a bed and force him to sleep. Hunter knew that they were secretly serious though.
He couldn’t. There was too much to do. His hands bunched up the fabric of his shorts while he stayed on the couch as they instructed. He had a schedule to uphold! And sleeping or reading a book was not a part of it. Although the latter sounded to his liking, the words blurred in his vision and he couldn’t concentrate on what they were trying to say.
He used to like reading, but he guessed not anymore.
Mrs Noceda - no, she told him to call her Camila - said that he should find something that he enjoyed. Something that made him happy.
To Hunter, it seemed stupid. It didn’t matter if what you were doing made you happy. It mattered if it was the useful thing to do.
If he thought hard enough, he could remember the time Darius had taught him how to sew. He had been terrible at it but he recalled that he had been most happy then. Maybe that’s what Camila meant?
So, he asked for a needle and thread. Luz’s mother seemed delighted, handing him a sewing box. It was made of rattan with a pink covering on top. He was embarrassed to be caught with it, knowing that if the others saw him trying to busy himself with something as menial as sewing they’d tease, so he took it to Luz’s closet.
He liked it in there. It was dark and quiet, the slit of the door offering just enough light for him to thread the needle through a patch of quilt. He found himself unable to do anything else, sitting in that closet for hours and hours repeating the same threading pattern until he heard a knock.
“Dinner is ready…” Gus pushed his face through the door, staring at Hunter’s hands, “Oh, I didn’t know you liked embroidery!”